On orderly duty. I have just been out taking the picket at 11.30 P.M.
In the stables the long row of heads in the half-darkness,
the creaking of the ship, the shivering of the hull from the vibration
of the engines, the sing of a sentry on the spar deck to some passer-by.
Then to the forward deck: the sky half covered with scudding clouds,
the stars bright in the intervals, the wind whistling a regular blow
that tries one's ears, the constant swish as she settles down to a sea;
and, looking aft, the funnel with a wreath of smoke trailing away
off into the darkness on the starboard quarter; the patch of white
on the funnel discernible dimly; the masts drawing maps across the sky
as one looks up; the clank of shovels coming up through the ventilators, —
if you have ever been there, you know it all.
There was a voluntary service at six; two ships' lanterns
and the men all around, the background of sky and sea,
and the strains of 'Nearer my God to Thee' rising up in splendid chorus.
It was a very effective scene, and it occurred to me that this
was 'the rooibaatjees singing on the road,' as the song says.
The next entry is from South Africa:
